The Silent Killer
by RicardianScholar Clark-Weasley
Summary: Everything is changing but how much progress is just progress for progress sake? As Emma makes changes to her home something else has altered in her life. Somehing that is slowly killing her.


**Author's Note: warning this fic contains character death, semi-graphic scenes, OCs, and small crossovers with other Jane Austen works. **

If asked to recall how such a thing began, Mrs Darcy would say it had started when she had come to call on her mother, Mrs Knightly, at her newly renovated London house.

Mrs Darcy, of course, was an excellent source on this tragedy as she was not only the eldest daughter, but the eldest child, of the smaller Knightly family unit. It was, sadly, that time of life for Mrs Knightly when she was expected to die as she had done her duty and had very little use for society these days. Not that her family shared these sentiments! Mrs Darcy called on her mother every day whenever she was in London, if not for advice then for tea and gossip, while Mrs Darcy's niece, Miss Victoria Tilney, relied heavily on her grandmother who was her guardian as she tragically lost her parents to typhoid fever when they were doing their missionary duty in India. Meanwhile Mrs Darcy's last two remaining siblings, both brothers, always needed to council their mother on how to appease their wife. The grandchildren adored their mischievous grandmother who was always inclined on spoiling them, and their cousins, Mrs Knightly's nieces and nephews, and great nieces, and great nephews, and even a great, great niece, always enjoyed visiting fun Aunt Emma.

Nonetheless a widower with nothing but a house in London and three thousand a year had very little to contribute to the gossiping, exciting, ever progressing modern society. After all, this woman was older than the Queen! She still held those terribly old fashioned ideals of the pre-industrial world.

Absolute poppy-cock! At seventy four, Mrs Knightly was perhaps even more of a social bee than she had been at sixteen, when one was expected to enter society. When Mrs Darcy, feeling her age far too much with the knowledge she was only twenty two years younger than her mother, called on Mrs Knightly she had found her mother working on a cross-stitch exemplar with her keen, lively, blue eyes focused solely on that.

Her eyes and clear skin made Mrs Knightly appear far younger than her years despite what her grey hair suggested. Mrs Darcy was deeply envious as she swore she had more wrinkles than her own mother!

"Good morning, Mother," she interrupted loudly, "and what are you working on today?"

"Dearest Emily!" her mother cried out warmly, "do sit down, I shall call for some tea, I do believe we have your favourite Earl Grey in today, oh this? It is a little gift for James' daughter; can you believe Alice is to be married in the spring? I would swear on my life she is still that sweet six year old learning her commandments, oh they do grow up so fast."

"Yes they do," Mrs Darcy agreed, "although I find it highly unfair that James will have a grandchild before me. It was deeply upsetting that Henry managed to achieve it before I, and now James."

There was a small, sad, silence as they bowed their heads in remembrance of Baby Harry, the first and for now last, of Mrs Knightly's great grandchildren. The child had died before he reached his second birthday of a mysterious and terrible illness. The death had not only broken the hearts of her dear younger brother, and the rest of the family, but devastated his daughter Lady Emma Bertram, as the birth of her only, and now dead, child had appeared to have rendered her barren. It was a tragedy they try not to talk about.

"I take it your boys still have no desire to settle down?" Mrs Knightly asked abruptly, as she moved past her grief, "You must be desperate for a grandchild of your own."

"William is too busy having adventures to consider a wife," Mrs Darcy sighed though a small fond smile played on her lips. Her youngest son was making great progress in the army and his letters were filled with exciting stories each and every time. "And George, I fear, has yet to realise what a lady is, he is far too busy with his studies, but Knightly has hinted a betrothal with a lady of his acquaintance. I do worry about the mystery surrounding it but then again Knightly has never given me cause of concern, I am certain the lady he has chosen is a fine young woman, educated if not wealthy, and has some sort of connection if she is not part of society."

"Knightly," her mother muttered, "thank the lord she is not still alive to greet him."

Mrs Darcy rolled her eyes. She knew exactly what her mother was talking about and wondered if her mother would ever get over her irritation with the long dead Mrs Elton and the woman's tendency to address Mrs Darcy's father inappropriately as 'Knightly'. Mrs Darcy knew little about the lady, she had died not long before Mrs Darcy had married of lead poisoning, and her son, one of the greatest fops in history, had shamed her deeply by marrying beneath him. Mrs Knightly had crowed gleefully at the fact the younger Mr Elton had married her dear friend Harriet's daughter, Miss Emma Martin, much to Mrs Darcy's father's exasperation.

It was best to change the subject before her mother ranted furiously over the arrogance and conceitedness that was Mrs Elton.

"I do like what you have done with the place, Mother," she said hurriedly, "This is Scheele's green, is it not?"

"Oh yes," Mrs Knightly said cheerfully, "an extravagance expense, one your father would have never approved off, but it is not as if I need money for much else. I have enough set aside for Victoria's season and hopefully this time we will find her a husband though admittedly I am in no rush to part from her."

"Well she is only just seventeen," Mrs Darcy said, "she has many years ahead of her until she marries. After all I did not until my twenty second birthday."

They then discussed Victoria's potential suitors over tea before moving onto the latest scandal caused by the Prince of Wales, and then finally finishing with plans to dine later in the week.

As Mrs Darcy was about to go down the hall after having just left her mother in the newly decorated parlour, she swore she heard her mother mumble to herself, "You must think me so foolish, George, buying such expensive wallpaper like this and covering the house with it."

She dismissed it as part of her flighty imagination that she used to indulge as a child.

EWEWEWEWEWEWEWEWEWEW

Emma knew she was being silly but she could not help it!

The fact is George Knightly had been a permanent fixture of her life since she could remember, and then he became a part of her being for thirty long years of marriage, for thirty years he had drowned her senses with himself, he had been her everything, and now he was gone. How could she cope without her confidant to talk to? How could she go on without the warmth of his arms round her at night? How could she wake up in the morning without his scent and body heat to both rouse and comfort her?

She managed; of course, George would have never forgiven her if she did not. She was supposed to continue living life to the fullest without him and then, when God did call for her return to heaven, she was to recount it all to him.

But she missed him desperately. She craved his company, she desired to hear him laugh, and she needed to feel him around her. So, of course, she allowed her imagination play games with her. she spoke to him out loud when she was alone, picturing his facial response, the grimace when she tells him about an injustice, it turning playful and reproaching when she spends too much money on a dress, his warm smile when she describes their children and grandchildren's latest antics, and his tears when she spoke of the death of their youngest child. Sometimes he would reply to her, and sometimes, for just a moment, she could feel him holding her.

She dreamt of him constantly.

Sometimes she would wake up again as a young woman with him beside her. The bedroom is light and airy just as the one they stayed in on their honeymoon and George is around her, his face buried into her shoulder, his chest to her back, his legs between hers, and his arms tight around her waist, anchoring her to him.

"I had a dream last night," she murmured.

"Hmm?"

"I dreamt that you left me and I had to grow old without you."

"Nonsensical girl," he kissed her pulse point, "as if I would ever leave you." he then kissed her again, and again, and again, and-

There is a sudden knock on the door and Emma's eyes flew open. The light airy room from so long ago has turned into her bedroom in her small house in London. "Mrs Knightly?" a timid voice called on the other side. "I have come to wake you for breakfast."

"Yes, Lucy, do come in."

It had just been a dream. Just like many had been before. Just as all those conversations she had when there was no one else in the room. All in her imagination.

Only...well...they had never been that _vivid _before.

EWEWEWEWEWEWEWEWEWEWEWEWEW

A year after the renovation of Mrs Knightly's house the entirety of her half of the Knightly family had dinner together. Her children, their spouses, and their children, and _even their_ spouses were all gathered round the dinner table and enjoying a meal together.

The patriarch of the family, not that his older sister or younger brother paid him any respect as that, James Knightly was hosting the dinner party. Usually he would be delighted to see his many nephews and nieces interacting with his own children, to see his mother engaging in conversation with his lovely wife, and to have an intellectual discussion or political debate with his highly intelligent brother in law, but there was something amiss this evening. Something not quite right.

His niece Victoria looked unnaturally pale. Unfortunately he knew that was the latest fashion for these foolish girls. His other nieces and own daughters had purposely made themselves pale and when the makeup, guzzling of vinegar, and hiding from the sun did not work as effectively it seemed the tightening of their corsets to make their waists tiny certainly affected them.

It was the practise that neither his sister, sister in law, and wife practised. He enjoyed thoroughly the debate between the two different generations about the positives and negatives of corsets. However, his mother, who had never been one for those fashionable practises, was also looking deathly pale.

She was not eating much either. In fact she had been subtly moving the food on her plate around to make it appear she had been eating.

"Are you listening, James?" his younger brother scolded him. "Ben, here, was just telling us about the scandal with the gas companies."

"I do apologise," James said sheepishly, "do go on."

"It is a terrible matter," Bennett Darcy grinned, "both your inability to listen and the scandal with the gas companies." The three older men laughed and James motioned for his brother in law to continue. "Merely that the competition has gotten so fierce between the companies that they have taken to killing one another's customers. It's a dreadful business; several homes have been destroyed by these explosions caused by the gas being sabotaged."

"Dear Lord! It is a dreadful business," James exclaimed, "I am ever so glad I have never invested in such a troublesome addition to the household. It would have been far too expensive for Donwell Abbey, and we are rarely in London these days now that the children have married."

"Indeed," Henry Knightly agreed, "I have refused outright when my wife pleaded me for these gas lights. I do hope, Mother, that you have not added this addition to your London house."

"I am afraid you have relayed your hopes too late, dear," their mother said with a smile, "I have had gas added to the house when I renovated a year ago. It has not been the most reliable but I do enjoy having lights without fearing that a draft will blow all the candles out."

"Mother!" Henry showed the exasperation that James dearly felt. "It is not safe to have gas."

"Nonsense! I can reassure you the only issue I had with it was the strange affect it had on my new wallpaper," their mother said firmly, "Your father would have been disappointed with your stance against progress. Of course it is dreadful what many men would do for money but we must rely on Scotland Yard to keep the streets safe from them, and allow progress to take its course. Otherwise we would all be burdened by the same way of thinking of your dear Grandfather Woodhouse."

"Ah but how much progress is progress for progress sake?"

This of course led to a long debate that exasperated their wives and children as well as their dearly loved mother. It was no wonder the ladies had departed for coffee in the parlour leaving them to it. Once their wine was gone, and the servants had long departed to deal with the dishes, James had left to go in search for his brandy decanter in his study.

As he turned the corner he saw a feminine figure that had rested her forehead against the wall and was muttering under her breath.

"Mother?"

"Oh!" his mother turned round to face him. She was so pale, there were dark smudges under her eyes, and she seemed to be in pain. "Hello dear, do excuse me, I was...well I was having a little chat with your father," she smiled sheepishly, "I like to think he is listening to me wherever I am. Oh darling, he would be so proud of you."

"Mother..." James hesitated for a moment. He felt like a child again with this silly anxiety and fear. "Are you well?"

"Hmm? Well? Yes darling, I have been a little bit under the weather recently, but be reassured I have never been in higher spirits."

Just like a child he had felt like moments before he accepted this reassurance without question. He should have never done that. His father would not have been proud but disappointed in him for his willingness to pretend nothing is wrong.

Because, just perhaps, if he had investigated more thoroughly, if he had pressed his mother into visiting a doctor, if...well just if, he might have been able to save his mother's life.

EWEWEWEWEWEWEWEWEW

Emma clutched her stomach desperately.

For months now she had been suffering stomach pains. They had started so small and insignificant that she had ignored them easily but now...well now if felt as if her insides were on fire. She had recently suffered a terrible embarrassment and can feel another one about to start with her bowels. The amount of times her maids have had to change her linens and clean the floors after her when she could not make it to the chamber pot in time.

"Hush love."

A cool hand was on her forehead and she could not help but smile slightly. "I am in agony," she murmured.

"It will ease in time."

"You should leave, George," she groaned, "I cannot bear for you to see me in such a pitiful state."

"I have seen you in worse," he reminded her gently, his hand had moved to stroke her hair like he had done many times before when she had been ill, "I had been there when you had given birth to our youngest child."

She tried to smile at that wonderful memory. Annabelle's birth had been her most difficult and painful birth, much to the Midwife's horror, and her physician's, George had not been able to bear hearing her screams and charged into the birthing room to be a comfort and help to her. She had been delirious, sweaty, covered in all sorts, and her legs were up in the air and open wide, if he could still love her after seeing her in such a state then it must have been true love from the beginning.

A horrible stench filled her senses and her eyes flickered open to see George's hand slowly rot above her. The skin was flaking, decomposing onto her own skin, as white bone started to appear, she tried to pull away but the rotting body had lunged forward and grabbed hold of her. "You will not escape," a guttural voice that was not her husband's – this man was not her husband, "I will take you with me to the pits of hell."

She was on fire, she was terrified, she was being dragged off her bed, with all her strength she managed to open her mouth to scream.

"Mrs Knightly?"

She was surrounded by darkness...she was drowning in darkness...she could not escape from the darkness...

"MRS KNIGHTLY?!"

EWEWEWEWEWEWEWEWEW

"I am afraid there is nothing I can do to save your mother."

Mrs Emily Darcy could not think of any other thirteen words that could be more horrific than those. Her mother was practically dead. The woman who had given birth to her, held her, read her stories, comforted her, gave her advice, was on the verge of not existing in this world now. It did not seem possible. After all her mother had held on for so long despite the fact she could have died of heartbreak after Mrs Darcy's father died. What were they to do without her?

God what would Victoria do without her grandmother?

Surely there was something the doctor could do?

One of her brothers voiced her question as she could not bring herself to do. Her throat was dry and closed up as she tried desperately to not picture a world without her mother in it. "I am afraid not," the doctor said sadly, "your mother has fallen into a deep sleep, according to her maid she had been suffering months of cramps, diarrhea, confusion, and headaches, and even the odd touch of delirium...they all indicate a terrible fate which if it had been noticed sooner we may, and only if God had been willing, saved her. It is far too late."

"What is it, doctor?" Henry asked.

"Arsenic poisoning," the doctor said grimly, "there has been a noticeable rise in such cases recently."

"What...how...who?" James was flabbergasted.

"If I were you I would have the granddaughter examined as well," the doctor advised.

"You think Victoria would poison Mother?" Mrs Darcy was horrified at such a suggestion. Victoria may have caused the odd trouble with her busy schedule and lack of a suitable suitor but she was never the vicious sort of girl. "Why would she?"

"No!" the doctor cried out in shock. "I did not mean that she was behind the poisoning! Only...well she may also be suffering from arsenic poisoning. It has been noted by many that when one member of the household dies of arsenic poisoning the other members are afflicted at different degrees."

"Good Lord!"

After a flurry of emotion and action, Henry disappeared to find Victoria so she could be examined, and James rushed to Scotland Yard for them to open up an investigation. Mrs Darcy decided to remain at her mother's bedside as she tried to think who could possibly want to harm her mother in such a way. Surely not Lucy, her lady's maid, who was a timid and shy little thing. Mrs Knightly had rescued her from the foundling hospital as Lucy had once worded it, and since then there could not have been a more devoted creature in her mother's employment. Surely not the butler who had served her mother since she brought the London house, nor could it be the cook who had served the Knightlys faithfully since Henry was born. The other two maids, the kitchen, and parlour maids, might have been at fault though they had little reason to do, and then of course no one in the family could be a suspect...

They did not have many enemies though both Henry and James, and several of their cousins had political careers, their careers would not suffer if the matriarch of the family died. There was no one in their social circle that wished Mrs Emma Knightly dead. In fact she was greatly admired amongst her peers.

So who could have done such a thing?

Surely...and that thought surprises her...surely her mother did not do this to herself? If there would ever be a time her mother would even consider such a sinful act it would have been immediately after her father's death...not decades later when she still had so much to live for...

"Wake up," Mrs Darcy murmured into her mother's hand, "wake up Mama, I beg of you." she had not called her mother that since her childhood days. "We cannot do this without you. Who will guide us, our children, and even their children one day? Who will make us all laugh, bring us all together, tell us such stories? We already lost Father, do not make us lose you too...please Mama...wake up."

There was not even a twitch of an eyelid at this. Emily Darcy examined her mother carefully, she was far too pale, far too thin, and looked older than ever. It was a wonder that she had not paid any notice to these changes in her mother. Surely, the child who sees her every day, would have picked up on these physical changes? She knew her mother had not been well; she had been quieter and tended to look towards a corner as if there was someone standing there when there had not been...but she did not seem to be dying at all. She had noticed no indication to her mother's death in the last few weeks at all.

Shakily she held a mirror to her mother's mouth there was a small musky spot when she pulled it away. Her mother was still alive, good.

Mrs Darcy then proceeded to retell every childhood memory, every special occasion, the stories her own mother had told her, she rapidly and nervously retold everything in hopes it would revive her mother. Lucy came in with some tea, and came back hours later to take the untouched tray back into the kitchen, Henry had come in to inform her that Victoria had been taken to a hospital for treatment, and then James announced that all servants had been questioned and nothing.

They tried to get her to rest but she could not. She would not. In fact when she closes her eyes it will be when her mother opens hers.

Shakily, for the tenth time that night, she held a mirror to her mother's mouth.

When she pulled away there was no murky spot on the shiny reflective glass, there was nothing, absolutely nothing, her mother had not left a single breath on the mirror...

She was gone.

EWEWEWEWEWEWEWEWEWEWEW

It was thirty years after that terrible day and Mrs Darcy found the cause of her mother's death. Thirty long years in which all the grandchildren were now married and were trying to marry off their own children. Other deaths have happened, although Queen Victoria was still holding on grimly, new inventions, more progress, more wars, and the world being made anew. True enough by now her mother would be dead anyway but Mrs Darcy still felt sorely cheated out of the time she could have had.

It was the wallpaper's fault.

Oh there are debates, many claiming that they never felt the effect, others pointing to many relatives lost to the arsenic used to make that green pigment, but it is the companies and the government that has the final say and...Well, why would they want to lose the money they gain from the popularity that is Scheele's green wallpaper?

If Mrs Darcy knew this that fateful day she would have torn down every shred of that damn wallpaper.

But it was too late, it was far too late.


End file.
